


The Sketch

by yuffiehighwind



Series: An Eternity in Cheese Country [21]
Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Dual Identity, F/M, Gen, M/M, Milwaukee, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-01
Updated: 2003-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New life, new talents. Discord discovers a surprising drawing in her roommate's sketchbook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sketch

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the 'fic series "An Eternity in Cheese Country," and here's why - after they were killed by Callisto and Xena, the souls of Strife, Discord, and Deimos were reincarnated in the late 20th century into three humans named Steve, Veronica, and Dave.

Picking up Strife's socks and shoving them in a plastic bin she'd picked up at the corner store to carry to the laundry room with, Discord's eyes scoured the room and fell upon an open notebook. Peering close, she noticed a charcoal drawing stick and scratchings on the paper that roughly approximated the outline of a man. She knew Strife pulled in money somehow, and this discovery must have been it. Didn't think the little shit could actually draw. Pretty good too. Was that...?

She snorted, and straightened from her bent positioning, sending eyes to scope out more discarded laundry or pizza boxes instead of retrospective artwork. It was a man, of course, that outline. Shaped muscles, short hair, firm jaw, and distant eyes, hands clenched around a bow and arrow.

Discord, done with her search, exited into the next room, biting her lip and trying not to think of what else her roommate _(family? friend?)_ drew. Strife wasn't home, so she set down the basket and re-entered the dark fortress. Stepping over to the notebook laid out on the floor, she gazed down at it as if studying for some booby-trap. Finally, she picked it up and flipped through the pages.

Every page seemed to have the same man on it. The next one had wings drawn out behind him, his arms raised above his head in a sort of stretch or maybe a pose. How could any of these be from memory? Then again, centuries of memory burned into a human brain...? She herself had difficulty getting them out. She could remember the way light glinted off Ares' own back. Of course Cupid would be a snapshot in Strife's mind.

The following pages held another man on them, but he was drawn in pen instead of charcoal and was less painstakingly sketched. A smile, or some eyes. A hand, or a faint figure resting on a bench. It must have been his human ex-lover Dimitri, she figured. Who else? Discord snorted and rolled her eyes.

And then she turned a page and there it was. A woman sat in a windowsill - one of the wide ones like in their apartment, perfect for sitting - gazing out the window. She was drawn in sharpened pencil, small and frail and exposed. Her hair hung back and part of her face could be seen staring wistfully out and up at the sky. Her knees were curled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, holding herself together like duct tape. Her shirt was a man's plaid one - so long it went to her knees - with nothing else on but a simple pair of socks. Her breath hitched and she shut the book, tossing it to the floor and leaving the room.

Down in the laundry room, Discord was graced by Strife's irritating - ( _now misunderstood artist's)_ \- presence and she wouldn't look him in the eye. He asked what was up, then rambled on about some new thing, just like always, not noticing Discord's lack of response. _What was up? Up?_ _What was that supposed to mean?_ Discord wondered. He used to say it even before America, or twentieth century living. What was up. Defense shields.

"Saw your book," she blurted. Strife stepped back, metaphorically and literally.

"What book?"

"The book of drawings. They're good." She nodded and sorted and looked busy.

"Oh. Thanks."

Maybe asking why he was watching her that day - no, watching her and drawing her without permission - would be an okay maneuver. Nothing wrong with curiosity, right? Besides, it was settled between them that she was a bitch and he was a ditz. It was a fact as old as time itself. Literally.

Discord still didn't look up, even when he pulled himself onto the table she was sorting clothes on, sitting and crossing his legs, hands behind him, ignoring the shudder of the weak legs and not at all caring it could break any moment. He did this to annoy her, Discord was sure. Everything he did was to annoy her. Logical line of thought, since everything he _did_ annoyed her. But why, then, did he strive so? Schoolyard boys pull their crushes' pigtails, after all.

Inconceivable. Naked drawings of Cupid to prove it.

Still...

"One of them, uh, was of me, I guess."

The side of Strife's mouth went up just slightly as the only change in his expression. He watched Discord's face as she said this and grabbed the next load of wash to shove into one of the machines.

"Yup."

Discord went about turning the dials, inserting coins, and taking the load of wash she'd just removed over to one of the dryers.

"Did you like it?"

Discord's head shot up and she looked at him for the first time since he'd entered the laundry room. His eyebrows were up, his eyes wide, and his mouth smiling slightly, in hopeful anticipation of her opinion.

"It was..."

Discord had spent millennia disappointing that face. What was another few seconds?

"It was really good. I liked it."

_Coward._

"Thanks."

Strife hopped off the table and walked over to the dryer where Discord was turned inserting clothes. She spun around to find him standing right behind her.

"Hey!"

"What did you really think of it, Discord?"

"What do you mean?"

_Caught._

He just looked at her.

"I didn't like being... _exposed_ like that."

She could see him forming a retort along the lines of _"But you had a shirt on,"_ then he seemed to reconsider and nodded in understanding.

Strife? Understanding something? Perish the thought.

His hand went to her hair, and he brushed it out of her face, where it had fallen.

"You're beautiful, ya know."

Discord blushed and Strife left the room before she could say anything.

Maybe the whole drawing thing wasn't that bad after all.


End file.
